They didn’t run up the stairs. They all stood outside the fake building. Will looked down. The grass had been worn away from dozens of men standing right here and waiting to go in. The framing was open to the width of a set of double doors.

They should’ve used real doors. You couldn’t see through walls in a real building. You couldn’t look through doors and spot the bad guys. The paper targets in the middle of the room were covered in paint. They probably hadn’t moved them during a single drill. You had to know a basic set of facts before you stormed a public space. Where was the furniture? What were the obstacles? Roughly how many people were inside? Which direction would they run in when the bullets started flying? Where were your exits? Who was your target? How were you going to keep yourself and your team safe?

“All right, brothers.” Gerald had a stopwatch in his hand. He shouted, “Go.”

Eight men rushed inside. Rifles pointed, knees bent. The two targets were double-tapped. The men split off into teams of two, covering all four walls. They moved silently, stealthily, using hand signals, tapping each other on the leg to stop or go. Fake doors were opened. Triggers were pulled. Paint hit the trees outside the building. Magazines were reloaded.

“Go!” Gerald repeated.

The three men in front of Will moved forward. Dobie followed. Will kept his rifle pointed down. Adrenaline shot through his body like fire. His vision narrowed. His heart started pounding. He forced himself to breathe in and out.

This was why you practiced. This was why you wore the gear and you hid behind walls and you opened real doors because your body was dumb and it didn’t know the difference.

Bravo team pounded up the stairs and swiveled up the T. Charlie was close behind. Will saw two letters spray-painted on the floor.

LG.

Will followed Dobie up the opposite side. They ran down the balcony. They stopped in front of a fake door. There was another letter painted on the plywood.

G.

Dobie looked at Bravo. He got the signal. He pretended to open the door.

Will kept his rifle down. Dobie unloaded into the opening. He kept pulling on the trigger until his magazine was empty.

Gerald called, “All right, that’s it. Twenty-eight seconds.”

The whole thing had felt like ten minutes. Will’s heart was pushing its way up into his throat. The heat was getting to him. He took off the helmet, pushed back the hood and goggles.

“Tell me, brother.” Will felt a hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you shoot?”

Will looked at the man. He’d taken off his gear, too.

Average weight and height. Brown hair and eyes.

His thumb was hooked over his belt buckle, but his arm was bent at a strange angle. He wasn’t resting his hand. He was trying to take the weight off of his shoulder because he’d been shot two days ago.

And then his men had kidnapped Sara.

Dash tightened his grip on Will’s shoulder. “Major Wolfe?”

Will had to say something. He couldn’t grunt and nod his way through this. He rubbed his beard, summoning up Jack Wolfe. “Don’t touch the trigger unless you’re ready to kill.” He shrugged. “There was nothing to kill.”

“Ah,” Dash said. “Following your own advice.”

“Training,” Will managed. Every ounce of his energy was being used to study Dash’s face for any sign of recognition. “If you shoot, shoot to kill.”

Dash said, “Why don’t you walk with me? We’re planning a little celebration. I bet a big fella like you enjoys a rare steak.”

Will’s stomach rolled itself into a fist. He should turn on the tracker. Dash was right here. The entire plan would fall apart without him.

But what about Sara?

“Let’s go.” Dash made his way down the stairs. The men opened up a path around him. He told Gerald, “Drill Team One again. I want them under ten seconds before we breach.”

“Yes, sir.” Gerald gave him a crisp salute. The men from the staging area were pulling on hoods and helmets. Sixteen more men. Glocks and rifles at the ready.

Will said, “I’ve never been on the second team before.”

Dash laughed. “It’s good news for you, brother. The first wave always has the highest number of casualties. The generals call them cannon fodder.”

He said this right in front of his men. They didn’t seem to mind the casual disregard for their lives. In fact, they looked energized by it.

Dash told Will, “We’ll take another turn after the celebration.”

“Celebration?”

“We go in tomorrow. We have a Message to deliver. It can’t wait another day.”

Will felt like thumb tacks were rolling around in his gut.

“Don’t sweat it, Wolfe. I can tell from one run-through that you know what you’re doing.” Dash tossed his gear onto the pile. He didn’t bother to change out his Simunition. The blue plastic frame was like a beacon inside the holster.

Will recognized the grip of his own Glock 19. Dash had taken his gun out of Sara’s car. He had used it to kill two people and probably to threaten Sara. No matter what happened next, Will was going to take back his gun and jam it down Dash’s throat.

Dash said, “We’ve trained over one thousand hours for this mission.”

Will nodded as if the number wasn’t idiotic. SEAL Team Six had only a few days of training before they’d raided Bin Laden’s compound.

“We’ve built something here,” Dash said. “Our community is young, but we’re driven. There will be some sacrifices, some casualties, but the Message is more important than any one man. You’ll see that when you meet the rest of the group. I want you to sit with my family. Get to know us. You’ll understand what we’re fighting for.”

Will doubted Dash was going to sacrifice himself. Megalomaniacs talked a big game, but they always came out without a scratch. The highest casualties would be all the brothers who thought running around in black tactical gear made them ready for war.

Will said, “Lot of young guys here.”

“They are indeed. That’s why we need tough, battle-hardened soldiers to train them up. Maybe you could be one of those soldiers, Major Wolfe.”

Will gave a noncommittal shrug. They were heading into the woods. He noticed two older guys with rifles. There was a platform built into one of the trees. A gray-haired man was leaning on the railing. His AR-15 was slung over his shoulder.

The Sig Sauer could take out one of them before Will was shot down. If they were using the same FMJs from the staging area, the bullet would run through Will’s chest like water and go straight into Dobie’s head.

“This way, Major.” Dash led Will toward a cleared trail. Dobie was tagging behind them like a puppy. The B and C Team straggled a few yards behind.

“I think you’ll like it here.” Dash walked beside Will, though the trail was narrow. “Gerald tells me you’re a friend of Beau’s.”

“Yeah, but I’m not—” Will feigned injecting a needle into his arm. “That’s not my thing.”

“What is your thing, brother?”

Will shrugged. He couldn’t make this easy.

Dash said, “Quarter of a million dollars is a lot of money.”

Will could feel Dash studying his face. “It is.”

“What are you going to do with it, Major Wolfe?”

The question wasn’t as simple as Dash had made it sound. Will took his time thinking through an answer. Now wasn’t the time for Jack Wolfe to go into some racist tirade or rail against the government for failing him. “I guess I’ll go somewhere like this. Just me and nobody else.”

“You wouldn’t take a woman with you?”

He shook his head. He glanced at Dobie, who was listening intently. “I don’t like complicated.”

Dash nodded, but Will couldn’t tell if he’d given the right answer. It didn’t matter. There was no taking it back. They’d reached a clearing. Small cabins were tucked into the tree line. Women were cooking over open fires, filling up bowls and plates. Eight in all. Three old guys on platforms in the trees. Three more on the ground. Twelve younger women at the picnic tables putting down silverware and plates. Children were running around, spinning in circles, screaming, laughing. There were too many for Will to count.

“You like kids?” Dash asked.

Will felt like his breath was trapped in his chest. If there were kids here, then Sara might be close by. But there were so many of them. Will couldn’t start shooting if there were children. Some of them were barely old enough to walk.

“Major Wolfe?”

Will realized that he was staring at the girls. And then he realized that a man like Dash wouldn’t find that creepy. “They’re pretty. The little blonde ones.”

Dash chuckled. “My girls love their Daddy.”

Will swallowed down his disgust. “How many are yours?”

Dash looked Will in the eye and said, “Every single one of them belongs to me.”

He meant it as a warning. Will forced his fingers not to curl up into fists. He turned around slowly, looking at Dobie. The kid had stuck a piece of grass in his mouth. He swatted away a fly.

Will asked Dash, “He got anybody coaching him up?”

Dash smiled, as if he finally understood Major Wolfe. “You can have him if you want him.”

Will nodded. “Sure.”